His Name was Thomas
by BookNextDoor
Summary: 12-year Maven Calore is sent to the front to learn the art of war. With little experience of what war entails, he quickly learns that the front is no place for a fragile boy prince. Bullied by soldiers and tormented by the everyday brutalities of war, Maven finds himself befriending an unlikely friend-a Red by the name of Thomas who mistakes him for the general's servant.


Chapter 1: Marching to the Front

 **T** onight's evening meal is unusually boisterous.

The servants of House Calore know very well that the royal family prefers to eat in or near silence. Occasionally, one of us will make a brief comment about the meal's seasoning or request for more wine. I scoff at this memory of us, a time when 12-year old me knew less of violence and death. It was the usual dinner. The four of us were seated at a long, rectangular table. Father at one end, mother on the other.

My seat is directly across from Cal's, but I have nothing interesting to say to him. The only times he doesn't speak about Lakelander tensions or military strategy with me is when we're in his private quarters. Cal is putting up the usual façade tonight-making brief small talk about Father's plans for expanding the army. Mother keeps herself busy by staring coldly at the chicken on her plate, poking and prodding it as if to entice the flavors out of it.

I'm about to take a sip of my water when Mother taps her fork impatiently against her plate. The sudden ringing sound startles a few servants standing nearby, to which Queen Elara offers them an unforgiving glare. Father looks partially annoyed at the disturbance. After all, the sound disrupted an amicable conversation between Father and son. A conversation in which I am often excluded from. Before Mother speaks, Cal sneaks a quick glance at me before looking away.

At the age of 14, Cal's already gone to the front to do training. He understands the climate there better than I do, knows the bloodshed and the violence like the back of his hand. It's almost an obsession really. I don't understand how war tactics or battle strategy can be interesting, but he insists on studying the books in his free time. Insists on joining Father's council meetings. I thought it was a ruse at first, thought it was a sloppy attempt at gaining Father's favor. Much to my realization, Cal's soul was born and forged to be the king.

As for me, I don't know anything about war. Eavesdropped, yes, on heated discussions between my father and his advisors. My skills lie in politics. Even at the edge of 12, I understood the implications of the war against the Lakelanders. I knew the fatalities. The relatives of Silver Houses who have watched their kin perish in the hundred-year war. I can see it in the wrinkles of my father's face. One could assume I fear the war because it may someday be my destination. I fear death because it has managed to find me even in the confines of the kingdom. It shows mercy for no one, not even a lowlife prince.

"You're sending me to the front, aren't you?" I say, an edge of panic to my voice. _No, no, no._ Memories of Cal's guttural screams from his nightmares replays itself in my mind. If Cal could barely endure the war, how does she expect me to? How does she expect me to train in the distance with blood staining the battlegrounds in red and silver? The innocence of a boy of twelve means nothing to them-it is a rite of passage to embrace war at a young age. Except for toy soldiers and wooden swords, I'll be trading them in for armor and a purpose to kill Lakelanders left and right.

Mother leaves her seat and strides over to me, clamping a hand on my shoulder. The nails dig through my shoulder without remorse. _She's sending me off to die_ , I think. _Why keep the other prince when you already have a brilliant, strong heir to lead in the future?_ "Mother, I-"

"Don't act so surprised," King Tiberias' declares, his voice booming across the room. "I was barely a teenager when I went to train. Cal did the same, and so shall you."

"Exactly," Mother scoffs. There's not an ounce of sympathy or concern to her voice. "What kind of House would we be if a prince was not trained in the art of war or combat? We'd be the laughing stock in all of Norta."

I want to shrink into my seat. Drown out all the noise. Be anywhere, but here. I can feel Cal's eyes burning into me. I don't need to look up from my lap to know the future heir of the kingdom feeling pity for the pathetic prince.

"My grandfather would be rolling in his grave if he knew that my second eldest son was a weakling-"

I stand up abruptly. "I'm not afraid father. I'll…I'll go to the front to train." Father is pleased, though contempt is the best word to describe the way he relaxes back into his chair.

The grip that my mother has on my shoulder releases, returning to its place on her side.

 _Good_ , she whispers in my head. _You leave at dawn_. What is meant to be a command from my Mother feels more like a death wish. My hands instinctively touch a strand of hair on my head, as if it could protect me from the invasive nature of my mother. I wonder if she ever does it to Cal. And if she does, if he feels as vulnerable as I do.

"Training won't be long," Cal says quietly, a silver flush appearing on his face. "It'll go by quickly Mavey. I can help you prepare for tomorrow, if you want," he adds. That seems to shut everyone up. He looks at me like I'm a coward, but for once, I don't hate Cal as much as I should.

To be continued.


End file.
